


Like A Fine Wine

by fireun



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireun/pseuds/fireun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bradley Crawford was not a man used to surprises. His body fumbled its way through startled and fell straight into shock, head jerking to the side like the appendage of some amateur-handled puppet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Fine Wine

It was a mirage he was used to seeing, a lazy drift of pumpkin colored hair tricked into motion by an autumn draft. He had stopped turning to face the phantom on his peripheral. It was nothing more than an involuntary admission he missed someone, an insidious bit of hope that welled up like bile in the back of his throat; unwelcome and burning. They were free, and free of each other. Why would the infuriating loose canon of Schwarz wander within screaming distance of his former leader?

_ 'Hello to you as well.'_

Bradley Crawford was not a man used to surprises. His body fumbled its way through startled and fell straight into shock, head jerking to the side like the appendage of some amateur-handled puppet. For once not a trick of an overreaching mind, Schuldig stood across the street, cocky smile twisting lean, aristocratic features in a way that was unmistakably him.

_ 'Watch it, Bradley dear. You are emoting all over the place.'_

That was Schuldig; settling merrily on the upper hand. Crawford watched the bane of his previous existence look down to check a watch. _'Well, as enlightening as this has been, I have places to be.' _

Schuldig always had been impossibly good at blending back into a crowd. The traffic light changed, people started crossing, and Crawford lost sight of Schuldig.

 

_____________________

 

 

"Starbucks. Why am I not surprised?"

Crawford was proud of the way he refused to flinch. He folded the paper he had been reading and placed it onto the table beside his coffee before turning to acknowledge Schuldig's presence.

This time, this meeting, he was able to draw in every little detail, from the comfortably worn shoes, long, duster style coat, to familiar orange hair. It was Schuldig…and it wasn't. The accent had all but slipped out of his voice, and there were lines at the corners of blue eyes that had been formed by a more honest breed of smile than Crawford was used to seeing. While still long and still an unfortunate color more suited to autumn foliage than hair, Schuldig's unruly mane was pulled back in a long braid, confined apart from the few free spirited wisps that were determined to sneak free. Schuldig himself seemed….sleeker. Relaxed wasn't the right word, and content never would be, but there was a definite air of satisfaction in his carriage that had never been present before.

"If you find me presentable, mind if I sit?"

Schuldig never asked permission so much as announced his intent in phrasing cunningly crafted to make one feel they had a choice. He snagged the chair opposite Crawford and settled into it, arranging himself with the same sort of concentration a housecat demonstrated when looking for the best part of the couch.

"You look well." It was carefully neutral, and about as intelligent as Crawford could manage.

"You look freakishly stressed as always. Which, honestly, never ceases to amuse me. When you know what's coming, what is there to stress over?" Schuldig grinned.

Crawford frowned.

"Ah, nostalgia. Almost so sweet it makes me want to vomit. You busy?"

"Right now?"

"No, I was thinking of waiting another ten years or so before seeing if you wanted to go get a drink."

It was about as good an idea as taking an apple from the Devils hand, but Crawford found himself honestly considering it.

"C'mon. I have all sorts of gossip to catch you up on. Don't you want to know how I have wasted my time? It gives you a wonderful opportunity to be all disapproving and shit."

 

___________________

 

It was surreal, sitting beside Schuldig in a bar. The low lighting dulled Schuldig's hair, softened all his angles, making him seem more human. It was an unfortunate revelation, and Crawford washed the taste of it out of his mouth with a sip of brandy.

"So…what have you been up to? Still using your brain to make life easier for dirty business?"

"Yes, I still freelance consult for various business firms." It should be impossible to lounge on a bar stool like that. But Schuldig managed, somehow; a careless pile of limbs and curves. It was distracting. "You?"

"I write."

Crawford managed to contain most of his disbelief, but ended up with a bit of brandy in his nasal passages as a result of an involuntary snort.

"Clears your sinuses, doesn't it?"

"You write." Crawford sniffed experimentally, trying to decide between incredulous and disdainful.

"Yup. For some reason I have a real talent for intuiting many personality types. Makes my characters really live for the reader."

"That seems so…"

"Domestic?"

"Mundane. You will never be domestic."

"You'd be surprised. Want to see my place?"

"That was unsubtle."

"I've known you too long to bother with subtlety."

 

________________________

 

Schuldig's place was oddly domestic. A studio apartment on the top floor of a building run down only as a testament to its age. No debris littered the halls. No inhabitants were busy taking their conflicts out into communal space. All in all it was rather…comfortable.

Schuldig had a tastefully worn couch littered with books and pens that had long since run out of ink. The kitchen counter was a study in tacky coffee mugs and the discarded cardboard of freezer dinners. Bookshelves lined one wall, the books shelved in alphabetical order. It was not at all what Crawford has expected.

"What were you expecting? Something more 'Desperado' and less 'High Fidelity'?

"Pardon?"

"Watch more movies. It'd do you a world of good."

"I don't have the time…"

"You have time enough. Sit. Relax. I'll put something in."

"Schuldig…"

"Relax. For once in your life. Pull the pole out of your ass and sit down. Exult in some shitty posture. Take off your shoes." Schuldig sighed. "And stop trying to figure out my ulterior motive. Some of us have settled into a nice, boring normalcy."

"You could never be boring."

The words were out of Crawford's mouth before he could think them through. They hung in the air between them, held aloft by the quiet affection that Crawford hadn't managed to strip from his voice.

"Yeah, I missed you too." Schuldig smiled, the crows-feet at the corners of his eyes wrinkling and softening the expression into something more honest than Crawford wanted to deal with. Schuldig held the expression for a moment, almost expectantly, and then turned his attention back to a shelf of DVD's.

Disappointment settled in the place of affection, and it was more than Crawford wanted to deal with. "I should really be going."

"Sure." Schuldig stood, the smile fixed on his face closer to the expression Crawford remembered.

And for some reason that made Crawford unhappy. Before he could rethink the action, Crawford reached out and patted Schuldig on the shoulder, a clumsily friendly gesture. It wasn't really what Schuldig wanted, but it was all Crawford could manage, and it was a huge concession in itself. Schuldig was intelligent enough to notice, and had changed enough not to push the issue just to see how far he could get.

"Stop by whenever."

"I won't be in town long."

"I won't be going anywhere."


End file.
